Chapter 21: A Father's Farewell
Shirou Emiya's arm was a monument to recklessness. Encased in plaster from the elbow to mid-hand, with only his fingers peeking out as witnesses to the catastrophe, it hung in an improvised sling Taiga had made from an old scarf. Every time he looked at it, a mix of frustration and stupid pride twisted his stomach. It had been stupid, yes. But also, for an instant, he had felt that golden power coursing through his veins. Mana Overdrive. The name, coined by Gilgamesh with her usual arrogance, resonated in his mind like a distant promise.
Gilgamesh had flatly refused to use any potion or artifact from her treasury to speed up his recovery. When Rin, still furious at the recklessness, had demanded it, the Queen had replied with a smile that froze the blood:
— My little wanderer must learn to suffer for his mistakes, girl. Only then will he improve in the future. This king cannot indulge him at every step of the way, or the spectacle will be ruined. A diamond isn't polished with coddling, but with friction.
Rin had snorted, called Gilgamesh an "insensitive witch", and left with the promise to return in a few days with more theory, now that Shirou couldn't get into mischief with his hands. But Shirou knew that, deep down, even Rin recognized the perverse logic in those words.
Now, a week later, Shirou sat on the floor of the Emiya Residence living room, his arm in a sling and his brow furrowed in an expression of growing disbelief. In front of him, Kiritsugu Emiya was finishing closing an old, worn leather suitcase. Dark clothes, some metallic gadgets wrapped in cloth, and a long case that Shirou knew contained the rifle his father had sworn never to use again.
— You're leaving?— Shirou's voice cut through the air, sharper than he intended.
Kiritsugu didn't turn. He kept adjusting the suitcase straps with a calm that only increased Shirou's irritation.
— Yes. I have to take a trip.
— Another one?— Shirou jumped to his feet, the abrupt movement making his plastered arm swing awkwardly.— You always do this. Every year, around this time, you leave. For weeks. Sometimes months. And I stay here, with Taiga, waiting for you to come back looking like a ghost.
Kiritsugu was silent for a moment, his hands pausing over the suitcase. Then, slowly, he turned. His gray eyes, always tired, met Shirou's.
— The things I have to do can't wait.
— But right now?— Shirou stepped forward, pointing at his plastered arm with his other hand.— Now you're leaving too? You're leaving me alone, like this, with this? With her?
His accusing finger pointed toward the armchair where Gilgamesh was lounging with the indolent elegance of a cat on a throne. She wore a simple red dress that, on her, seemed like an empress's robe. In one hand, she held a wine glass— produced from who knows where— and on her lips bloomed a smile of pure delight, as if the family argument were the best of entertainments.
— Look,— Shirou continued, his tone becoming theatrical, almost childish in his exasperation— I'm not stupid. I've noticed how you look at her, Dad. How you tense up when she's near. How you choose every word carefully, like you're walking on thin ice. You distrust her. A lot.
Kiritsugu didn't deny it. He simply held his son's gaze, impassive.
— And now,— Shirou raised his voice, gesturing with his good arm toward Gilgamesh— you plan to leave me alone for months with that... that wicked, suspicious queen? Who knows if one day she'll just eat me for looking at her wrong?
There was an instant of absolute silence. Then, a clear, musical laugh broke the tension like glass.
Gilgamesh was laughing. Really laughing. It wasn't her usual mocking chuckle, but a genuine, broad laugh that made her scarlet eyes gleam with a dangerous and amused light.
— Oh, my little Wandering Star!— She exclaimed, a hand going to her chest.— Such audacity! Such delicious insolence! Calling me "wicked" to my face...— She rose from the armchair with feline grace and slowly approached Shirou, who instinctively took half a step back.— You should be careful with such predictions, little one. Because I might, indeed, "eat" you someday.
She stopped in front of him, so close that Shirou could feel the heat emanating from her body and the sweet, heavy aroma of wine on her breath. She tilted her head, her scarlet eyes traveling up and down him with deliberate slowness. Then, her lips curved into a seductive smile, and her tongue darted out to lick her upper lip with an obscene slowness.
— But not in the way you think, little innocent.
Shirou froze solid. Heat flooded his cheeks like wildfire. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but only an incoherent sound came out. His pleading eyes fixed on Kiritsugu with comical desperation.
Kiritsugu, for his part, observed the entire scene with an expression that was a mix of infinite weariness, resignation, and, barely perceptible, a spark of something resembling amusement. He sighed. A long, deep sigh, like a man who had seen too much and nothing surprised him anymore.
— Shirou,— He said, and his voice, low and calm, cut through the moment.— Sit down.
There was something in his tone that brooked no argument. Gilgamesh, satisfied with her performance, retreated to her armchair with a triumphant smile, crossing her legs and once again adopting her pose of royal spectator. Shirou, still blushing and confused, obeyed, sinking to the floor in front of his father.
Kiritsugu sat as well, on the edge of the low table, facing his son. His hands, those hands that had killed so many, rested quietly on his knees.
— Ever since she arrived,— He began, without needing to point at Gilgamesh— I've had a lot of time to think. To observe. And to reach a conclusion I've been refusing to accept for years.
Shirou frowned.— What conclusion?
— That my presence here, in your life, is limiting you.
The declaration fell like dead weight between them. Shirou shook his head, instinctively.
— That's not true. You taught me…
— I taught you what I could,— Kiritsugu interrupted, with an unusual gentleness.— I gave you a home. I showed you what it meant to dream of being a hero. But I can't teach you to be one. Not in the way you need.
He paused, his gray eyes losing themselves for a moment in a distant point in the room.
— I've been researching. Preparing. And I've come to understand something inevitable: you, whether we like it or not, are going to end up participating in the Fifth Holy Grail War.
Shirou felt a chill. The War. The visions. The Servants. All of what he had seen in chaotic fragments, now named with his father's calm voice.
— I can't stop it,— Kiritsugu continued.— It's written in the Ley Lines of this city. In your very being. And I…— His voice faltered for the first time.— I won't be there to protect you.
— Why not?— Shirou's question was immediate, charged with childish denial.— You can train me. You can teach me what you know. We can…
— I can't.— Kiritsugu shook his head, and in his eyes was an ancient, deep sadness that Shirou had never seen before.— The last war… left me something. A curse. A wound that won't heal. I don't have much time, Shirou. And what I have left, I have to use wisely.
The silence that followed was dense, crushing. Shirou wanted to scream, deny it, cling to his father like when he was small and the fire nightmares woke him. But something in Kiritsugu's gaze told him the fight was useless. That this wasn't a decision, but an acceptance.
— That's why I'm leaving,— Kiritsugu said, standing and returning to his suitcase.— Because there's something I can do. Something I must do. To give you a chance. An ally.
Shirou stood again, his good arm reaching out as if he could stop his father with just a gesture.
— It's not true!— He insisted, his voice breaking like a stubborn child who doesn't want to let go of his parents' hand.— Even if it were true, it would be better if you stayed! You can train me! You can help me! You can…
— Shirou.
The name, spoken with that terrible calm, stopped him cold. Kiritsugu turned, and for the first time in a long while, a smile appeared on his face. It was small, tired, but genuine. One of those rare smiles that Shirou treasured in his memory.
— That's exactly what I'm going to do,— He said.— On this trip, I'm going to give everything I can to help you. In everything I won't be able to do for you when I'm no longer here.
Shirou blinked, confused. He didn't understand. How could he help by leaving? How could he give something by being far away?
— Trust me,— Kiritsugu said, and that simple phrase, spoken with the weight of years of silence, made Shirou swallow all his objections.— One last time. Trust that I know what I'm doing.
There was a long moment of silence. Gilgamesh, from her armchair, watched with an expression that, for once, wasn't mocking. There was something like respect in her scarlet eyes. Respect for a man who, knowing himself to be dead, still fought to leave behind something more than ashes.
Finally, Shirou nodded. A small, almost imperceptible movement. Kiritsugu responded with a nod of his head, closed his suitcase, and headed for the door.
Before crossing the threshold, he stopped. Without turning, he said:
— Take care of Taiga. And the house. And yourself.— He paused.— And her…— His voice held a hint of irony.— don't let her "eat" you.
Shirou felt the heat rise to his cheeks again. Kiritsugu left, and the sound of his footsteps faded down the front path.
Silence settled into the house. Shirou stood staring at the closed door, his plastered arm hanging at his side and his heart in knots.
— How touching,— Gilgamesh's voice broke the silence, but this time it held no edge.— That man, in his twisted way, loves you. Almost as much as he hates the world that made him that way.
Shirou didn't respond. He just kept staring at the door.
— Don't worry, little star,— Gilgamesh continued, rising and approaching him.— Your father isn't as weak as he seems. And even if he were…— She placed a gloved hand on Shirou's good shoulder, with a pressure meant to be reassuring.— now you have me. And a king does not abandon her treasures.
Shirou looked at her. For the first time, behind that unbearable arrogance, he glimpsed something that might be… loyalty? Compassion? Affection? He didn't know.
— Now,— Gilgamesh said, withdrawing her hand and returning to her usual air of superiority.— if you've finished pouting, you should go to the kitchen. That sister of yours is surely already preparing something greasy to "cheer you up". And I, as queen, must supervise that she doesn't poison my host.
She swept out of the room with a swish of her red dress, leaving Shirou alone with his thoughts and the echo of his father's words.
"I'm going to give everything I can to help you"